Remembering
by Elfpen
Summary: After the battle against Pitch, the Guardians find themselves at the North Pole, desperate for some hard-earned shut-eye. In and out of the land of dreams, North remembers a meeting that he had forgotten for far too long, and Jack decides that maybe, memory is what holds them all together. Oneshot. Super fluff warning!


A/N: Alright, this is my first fanfic for RotG… I can't explain why I'm embarrassed about liking this movie enough to write fanfic for it. Maybe it's because it was supposed to be a 'kids' movie and I'm usually not into things with Santa/Easter Bunny, stuff like that, and maybe it's because I wasn't expecting to like it this much… Or maybe I feel like I'll end up overcomplicating what is actually a simple story….. Any which way you slice it, I'm hesitant writing for this fandom, and nervous that I might get the characters wrong. So this is just a little something to test the waters.

Enjoy, all!

* * *

They were all at the Pole, one last time, before they went their separate ways to their separate duties. After Pitch's defeat and the thrills and fun that followed, the Guardians travelled back on a high of victory, joy, and pure adrenaline.

But even immortals have to crash sometime.

And crash they did, all of them, royally. Predictably, Sandy was the first to go. Luckily, he had a tendency to float slightly above ground, and it helped his fellow Guardians navigate him into North's lodge with minimal trouble. Tooth was next, her wings buzzing in an out of function as sleep tried to claim her even as she made her way to the bedroom designated to her. Jack was too sleepy to feel surprised by the fact that each of the Guardians had their own bedrooms set up at the Pole, and too sleepy still to feel any sort of disappointment when he learned that he didn't yet have one. As Bunny staggered off to his bed with a slurry g'night, North put a large hand on Jack's shoulder and promised to have the yetis whip up a room for him for the night, nice and cold. Jack could only grunt a reply, mesmerized by the continually roaring fire at North's front room. After North left, Jack's eyes landed on a Santa-sized armchair by the fire that he hadn't noticed before. Before he knew what he was doing, he was curled up inside it, staff hugged to his chest, without a single frosty fiber of his body giving two cents over the fiery heat in the room.

That was how North found him not ten minutes later, and even as the old Russian opened his mouth to call Jack to a wintery-chilled bed for the night, a smile caught on his face instead. Jack wore a face of pure mischief in the day, but sleep washed his sharp edges away, leaving behind the clear face of a child that hadn't ever learned to grow up. Notwithstanding that Jack was over three centuries old, North felt his caring instincts awakened by the sight.

"Ach," He sighed to himself, "New room tomorrow. Tonight, sleeping will be in chairs." He stepped up next to Jack and chuckled. "Sleep well, Jack, you deserve it." he told the boy, even though he was far too asleep to hear. "Still, a bit warm here, for a Frost," North marched over to the window and cracked it open. A cold wind curled into the room, bringing a few white flakes with it. It brushed over to the sleeping Guardian, and Jack took a deep breath and shifted contentedly in his sleep. North smiled slightly, wondering if Jack knew this wind by name. Whatever its name might have been, it whistled a sleepy tune against North's windowpanes, and gave a nice balance to the heat of the fire. North pulled over another chair from the shadows and made himself comfortable. The chair was smaller than his own, and far more suited to Jack's lithe frame than his own, but he just couldn't bring himself to stir Jack awake for sake of his own comfort, so he settled in and pulled his coat about himself like a blanket, and allowed himself to begin to doze.

As he did, he found himself watching Jack from across the firelight: curled up in a way that only he could find comfortable, hugging his crook like it was pillow, toes twitching occasionally at the brush of his breezy friend. Something about the way he looked just then, innocent and stripped of all daily pretenses, stirred a memory deep in North's mind, one he hadn't thought on in many, many years. Centuries, even. It surfaced in his mind's eye just as he felt himself falling asleep, so it wasn't so surprising that he found himself dreaming that night, remembering, rather, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Jack Frost.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve. Or, Christmas Day, somewhere in the world. He'd just finished his rounds about the world, and as tired as he was, North always liked to save an hour or two for sightseeing afterwards. It was a luxury he didn't allow himself often, amidst the hustle and bustle of preparing all year, and of course the annual trip itself, flying around the world. He'd spent several years in the recent decades making leisure stops in Asia and in his homeland, Russia, but this year, on a whim, he'd decided to pick his way back to the East American coast.

He'd noticed earlier that night that there was an usually heavy dusting of snow in Pennsylvania, and while he lived most his life surrounded by the white snows of the arctic, there was something different about this snow, something new. The same wonder that made him the giver of Yultide gifts now drove him back to the small, sleeping town of Burgess.

He touched down his sleigh on the local pond which, frozen over in thick ice, provided a convenient and visible runway for his reindeer. Tired from their journey but tame to North's hand as always, the beasts knelt down and waited quietly while North picked his way to shore.

It was quiet at the edge of town, and even as he strolled through the streets, the night was soundless. The snow muffled the ambiance, giving the winter breeze full reign of the nocturnal melody. As someone who lived in a constantly snowy climate, North prided himself on his accustomation to winter weather, but something about the Burgess landscape whispered of something different, something _more_. There was magic floating in the air, a whimsy, a sprinkle of _something_. A glitter in the snow as the wind blew it by, a lively dance in the icy patterns that filled the window panes. North didn't know what it was, but he found himself smiling.

He stayed there, strolling the streets and admiring the scenery until the sun began to peak over the horizon, sending fairy-dust bursts of light across the snow. When he began to hear the delighted shouts of children (exclaiming over his own handiwork, he thought with some pride) he finally decided that it was time to head back home. He found the lake just where he had left it, exactly as he had left it, just as he expected it to be.

The same could not be said, however, of his sleigh.

North froze, perhaps on instinct, as he spotted a figure by his sleigh. It was a child – or at least, it looked like a child. _He_ looked like a child – for North quickly decided it must have been a _he_, and a he who had absolutely no idea that he was being watched.

The boy, whoever he was, held a staff in his hand, the top curved around in a crude shepherd's crook. He didn't set it down even as he reached out and touched North's sled (much to North's anxiety) and ran his hand down the side. If the reindeer had seen the nearby stranger, they hadn't taken notice, and North made a mental note to run them all through remedial 'Bite-All-Strangers-Who-Come-Near-You' courses. North was about to step out from the shadows and demand to know what this boy was doing near his sled, when something rather extraordinary happened that stopped the old Guardian in his place.

With little more that the tip of his heel, the boy flew up in the air and came back down to land his toes deftly on the back rim of North's sleigh. He peered down into its bed curiously, cocking his head this way and that to evaluate the several large sacks of presents (for North always seemed to pack a few extra of everything, just in case). His interest piqued, North edged closer, sure to be as quiet as he could manage. The more he saw of the boy, the more North wondered. Exactly who was this unlikely snooper?

He had hair whiter than North himself, despite the fact that he couldn't have brushed the beginnings of adulthood, much less of old age. He was clad in worn leggings, a white shirt and waistcoat, and a cloak, all of them dotted with shines of ice. The clothes looked old and outdated in the eeriest sense, one that made North look around twice to see if anyone else (but of course there was no one else around) was seeing this. And to top it all off, this boy, this comfortable, well-balanced, free-moving boy, was standing outside in the middle of the biggest snow of the year, on a frozen lake, and he was _barefoot_.

Never the matter _who_ this boy was, North thought,

"What _are_ you?" He said out loud.

His voice hadn't been quiet, but the mystery boy didn't seem to hear, and took a moment longer at his game of observation before leaping lithely down into North's sleigh. At the sudden intrusion, North finally stepped from his hiding place, affronted and worried, but not sure how he could proceed.

The boy reached for one of the gift sacks, and loose contents rattled this way and that as he found the opening and peered inside. He didn't move like a vandal, or even scavenger, but as a curious fox, skittish but unable to help himself. He picked out a few objects and examined them, a toy train, a fine porcelain doll. He set them aside carefully, and peered inside for more. He didn't _look_ malicious, nor even particularly ill-willed, but it didn't change the fact that he was in North's sleigh on Christmas Day and the sun was quickly rising.

North cleared his throat, stepping forward, "I don't believe we've met," he said, unable how else to go about it. He frowned when the boy didn't even flinch, didn't even recognize his presence. North cleared his throat again, louder, longer.

Nothing. The boy kept on fiddling with North's various leftovers, turning and prodding and holding and peering. North tilted his head.

"Find something you like?" He asked, hoping for a reaction.

Nothing.

North sighed, and drew himself up steadily. "Is the white-haired one deaf, or making a fool?" He crossed his arms and glared, and at last the force of his words seemed to have some effect. The boy calmly looked up, saw North, and frowned non-committally. He shifted his weight to the right. North's eyes followed him.

_That _was when he finally got a reaction.

The boy froze, frown suddenly deep, eyes wide in terror. In the blink of an eye, he launched himself backwards off the sleigh, sending toys clattering across the lake. He scrabbled crab-like against the ice as North walked slowly around to peer down at him. Even as North watched him, perplexed, the boy finally righted himself and quickly drew his staff around to point at North's chest.

He smacked his lips, and mouthed non-words before saying, "Can you-" and he froze, as though he hadn't heard his own voice in a while. He shook himself and continued, "Can you…. Can you _see_ me?" He asked.

It was perhaps the last thing North would have ever expected to have been asked. It wasn't exactly a _common _question, and North didn't make a habit of _not_ seeing people who were so obviously there, much less people who were so obviously snooping in his sleigh.

"You act like is surprise – Of course I can see you," North chuckled merrily, hoping to appear friendly, but the smile died slowly when the boy didn't let down his guard, and began staring at North with an open expression of confusion. "What is your name, young one?" North asked, voice gentle.

The boy finally lowered his staff, but held it in white knuckles as he replied, "Jack Frost."

And at that, North's eyebrows rose.

He wasn't a busybody. The benevolent Father Christmas could never be known as one who listened to idle chit-chat, much less the whisperings of dryads and temperamental sprites. But he couldn't have helped it if he had heard, in recent times (though for how long, he didn't bother to recall) whispers, and rumors, of a new face in the turn of the seasons. The world of seasonal sprites was a pageant of clashing personalities and ego complexes, but there had been talk of someone new, someone _else_. Someone who wasn't really a sprite, but didn't really have another place to be. Someone who called winter his home and upstaged all the pretty snow dresses of the evergreens this time of year. A boy, not a spirit, and a lonely one, too, whose name might have sounded something like _Frost_.

And here he was, Jack Frost: white-haired, bare-footed, startled and caught red-handed snooping through Santa's sleigh, looking for all the world like a misplaced, vagabond shepherd strayed too far from his fold.

And he was a _boy_, North found himself thinking in spite of it all, _just a boy_.

"Jack Frost," He said, pensively, and nodded. "A pleasure to meet you," He doffed his furred hat and made a kind sort of bow. "I am-"

"Santa Claus," Jack finished for him, peering at North with equal parts suspicion and curiosity.

North smiled. "Those in this part of the world call me that, yes. You, however, can call me North."

"Why?" Jack asked incredulously, and it gave North paused. He blinked.

"Is my name, of course. All other immortals call me by name. Would include you, no?"

Jack seemed almost put off by the thought, and looked down at the ground as he shifted his weight against his staff, resting his cheek up against the wood. North couldn't help but notice that the branch frosted over wherever Jack's skin touched it. "Yeah," He muttered quietly, "I guess it would."

"I must say, you gave me quite a surprise, snooping in my sleigh while I walk streets," North said, bending to pick up the stray toys that Jack had knocked out of his sleigh, "But is no matter. Besides," He put away the toys and rifled through the sacks until he found what he was after. "Even immortals should not miss Christmas." He turned with a smile and held out a small package, wrapped in festive paper. Jack looked down at it, frowning, and back up at North. The tall man shrugged. "Perhaps you find something to your liking, after all." He gestured with the box at Jack, and the boy reluctantly took it. As he did, North jovially put his hand over Jack's. It gave him a slight pause when the boy stiffened and stared at the point of contact with disbelief and fear. North withdrew quickly, not quite sure what was wrong but not wanting to cause Jack discomfort. He was a rather jumpy fellow, North thought. "A very happy Christmas to you, Jack Frost," North said, and then frowned to himself. "Or is it _Merry_ Christmas, in this part of world? And why does it change? Ach," He waved a dismissive hand as Jack examined his present and its wrappings. "Is of no matter. I must be leaving back home."

Jack looked up. "You're going?" For someone who seemed so suspicious of North's every move, Jack sounded disappointed. North shrugged.

"I am done with yearly rounds, and the day is taking her turn. I must get back to Pole, before little children wake up and come outside to play." He gave Jack a wink. "Would not want so many young ones to see me flying off," He said. He was confused when Jack's face twisted in confusion.

"You mean… they can _see_ you?"

North frowned. Full of odd questions, this one was. "Yes," he answered.

"But… _how?_"

North was utterly nonplussed for a split second, before it clicked.

_Oh_.

The unresponsiveness, the startled look on his face when North caught him, the unused rasp in his voice, asking North if he could see him, the wariness, the nervous tilt in his stance, it all finally made sense.

Jack Frost was invisible.

Jack Frost was invisible, and he didn't know why.

North found himself unable to answer around the sudden lump in his throat that appeared upon the realization of who he was talking to. A lonely, unseen, unheard, isolated boy who had just come into contact with _him_, Nicolas St. North, one of the most in-contact, renown immortals in the world. And he didn't even know where to begin.

"Well, because they-"

Both North and Jack whipped their heads around when the first door slammed open, and a boy rushed down his front porch, a shiny new Christmas sled in hand to test out on the hills of snow. The reindeer snorted mistily and stood as one, stamping for their master, eager to get home. North sighed.

"Jack, I'm sorry, I-" but when he turned back around, Jack Frost was no longer where he'd been standing, but was across the pond, standing alongside the boy with his sled, now surrounded by admiring friends who held their own snow toys, and jumped in anticipation of their play. As the child bent over to ready his sled for riding, Jack knelt right down with him. He seemed to be talking, but the child showed no response. Jack looked at the boy, and then turned to look over at North, as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle.

North ached because of it, because Jack didn't understand, and because North couldn't stay and explain. Not letting go of Jack's gaze, North climbed into his sleigh and picked up the reins, where he could feel his deer biting at their bits to rush off.

He was just leaving the ground when he saw a little girl walk straight through Jack Frost, even as the teen was trying to help her set up her sled correctly. North could see the winter spirit sigh, and turn to watch the troop of children rush off to their snowgames. He looked despondent and confused.

And yet, all the same, he rushed off to make fun and snow for their sakes, for the joy of those who would never see him.

North felt a heavy weight on his chest as he traveled back to the Pole, a sorrow and guilt finding its way into his mind about Jack Frost, the unseen winter boy who didn't understand.

But quickly, probably quicker than North realized, he forgot. He returned to his workshop, his yetis, his elves, he returned to his ice-sculpting and his planning and the hustle-bustle of year-long preparation, and he forgot all about Jack Frost and their meeting on the pond.

* * *

Something jerked North awake, and he found himself back in his lodge, snoozing on a chair that was a mite too small for him. Jack Frost slept soundly across the way, hardly changed from when North had first met him. Except…

North sighed and stood, knowing he would have to go to his own bed if he were to get any more sleep that night. As he passed Jack, he let his hand (which looked huge next to the smaller guardian) fall on a winter white head. "No more forgetting," he promised, "It is a mistake I made with stranger, then, but now, you are family, Jack Frost. And that means remembering."

Jack didn't stir, even as North ruffled his hair and walked away, his boots clicking softly on the stone floor.

It might have surprised North, Jack was dreaming of the exact same meeting that night, curled up in the house of a man he had met long ago.

North might have forgotten about the time they had first met. Jack hadn't.

Not then, at least. After North left Burgess that night, Jack spent Christmas day doing what he did best: snow, children, and _fun_. Although he felt a certain disappointment that North hadn't answered his question, he resigned himself to a bit longer (for what were a few more decades now, anyway?) Of not understanding why no one ever saw him, heard him, touched him. Instead, after a good day of sledding and snowball fights, Jack found himself back at his pond, underneath the oldest oak tree there, looking down at the wrapped gift that North had given him earlier that day. Slowly, with the reverence of someone who hadn't had something to own in a very long time, Jack undid the bow, the wrappings, and the box inside, to pull out his first Christmas gift in well over a century.

It was blue, soft, and just the right size. Back in North's lodge, Jack huddled deeper into his long-loved hoodie, and a new layer of frost sparkled up around the edges.

North had forgotten. Jack hadn't. But none of it really mattered now, because it was time to start living so that forgetting would be a thing of the past. So perhaps, a century or two from now, Jack would look back on the night he spent curled up in North's lounge chair, tired from a battle with the embodiment of fear, high on the victory of a job well done, and smothered in the wonderful knowledge that never again would he have to be alone.

Maybe he would. Remembering, after all, was the receipt of a life well lived. And his life, Jack had the feeling, was about to start in earnest.

The wind continued to whistle around its favorite playmate, depositing gifts of snow and ice through the window, and Jack slept on, his whole mind at ease. He would stay like that long into morning, when none of his newfound family would find the heart to wake him. When he did wake, he would feel dazed and confused, but wouldn't have time to feel about that, because they would sweep him through the massive house to the dining hall, where the five of Guardians, (and a flock of baby teeth, some yetis, and handful of elves) would celebrate a belated Easter as it ought to be celebrated: together.

As it turns out, two centuries later, Jack _did_ still remember that day. In fact, this time, North remembered, too.


End file.
